Nostalgie De La Boue
by Reservation Red
Summary: Loft above Coffee Shop. Will provide essentials. Pack light. I'm clean and orderly and expect the same. Rent is high but it's in a popular, sought after neighborhood. To live here, you need to walk around naked some days. Don't worry. I'm not a creep. I'm an artist who needs a nude model. Females Only. YumiKuri YumiHisu
1. Darling

I was frozen in front of the picturesque coffee shop and its vinyl window lettering. I couldn't read the French and I knew I'd butcher it if I did, but it was enchanting in a way that I couldn't describe. I felt a strong yearning to it even though it was the first time being here.

I re-adjusted my backpack and re-examined the shop front.

 _Café Nostalgie_ was a breath of fresh air found on Abbot Kinney and Venice, serving the freshest coffee on the ground floor of its Beaux Arts Classicism granite building, or, at least, that's what the flyer taped to the window said.

I wasn't here for its 'aromatic and delicious blends'. Instead, I pulled my gaze away and glanced to the side of the building, find the weathered gate for the alleyway. I pursed my lips and thought of all the sketchy things that could happen for meeting someone in the alley for an advertisement on Craigslist.

I went to it, placing my hand on it and wrapping my fingers around the paint-peeling bars, peering through the gaps. Unlike most movies, this alley was rather well kept and even had windows facing inwards, accompanied by a few pots and plants on the rusty fire escape.

I exhaled, clearing my mind, and reciting the steps of self-defense and what to do in a crisis.

Apprehension gripped my hand as I slowly opened the gate, hearing its creak resonate and amplify against the walls of the alley. Once it was all the way open I propped it open with a broken pot so that I had a clean escape if need be.

I went through the surprisingly spacious alley, minding my surroundings and maybe even complimenting whoever was cooking because whatever it was it smelled delicious! That and the coffee shop made this alleyway a mixing pot of lovely aromas.

The alley wasn't very long but I was so distracted that by the time I got to the end of it I realized that I had no clue where to go from there.

The 'woman' said to go to the coffee shop, take the gate and go to the back of the alley. I read the directions over and over on my phone and glimpsed behind me. The gate was still open.

I put my phone away, clutching my backpack closer and strode forward. The back of the place was fenced in with high walls with what looked like a shed. At first, I didn't expect much until I fully rounded the corner and was immediately immersed in a large garden.

A few palm trees were planted back here, swaying in the wind as two nectarine trees hung lower, guarding over the rest of the bountiful earth. It was busy back here with all the different types of plants and shrubs growing, making it hard to distinguish which was part of what, and to see beyond the stone walk-way. As I was admiring the Eden I saw someone coming around the corner of a bush—a man!

I tensed up but perhaps he was a resident of the place. It'd take a lot of work for only one person to tend to this entire garden.

"H-Hello!" I said aloud. The moment his eyes connected with mine I gave a quick and awkward wave, inwardly cringing at myself.

What if he got mad that I was back on private property?

But, he smiled and I felt comfort flood through me.

Maybe he'd know where to go.

"Hello there," by the way his brown eyes glinted, I could tell right away he was a flirtatious man. His hairstyle was rather hipster, too, but it was expected in this kind of neighborhood as he made his way to me.

That's when I realized something very wrong.

He was without a shirt.

In fact, he was naked.

I felt my eyes glued to his flaccid penis, gawking at it, and ripping my eyes away to see him sizing me up, leaning against the building's wall and winking.

"See something you like?" He had a British accent as he peered down at me, raising an eyebrow.

I took a step away, embarrassed.

"Y—You should r-really get clothes on," was all that escaped my lips as he chuckled.

"Girls over the pond tend to get scared at first, I get it, you're all used to circumcised and all, but, I promise it's just as good if not better." He assured, leaning away, but I could tell he wasn't disengaging from our conversation, let alone getting clothes…

"Jean," a woman's voice rang and the man visibly shuddered, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes.

"What're you doing—ah, a guest?" The woman was thankfully clothed. My eyes were thankful to pay attention to the new person instead of the naked man, but I found myself equally challenged.

The woman was tall and dark with warm golden eyes and freckles dusted all over her cheeks. She had smears of paint on her hands as she lifted her hand up to me, allowing a small yet attractive smile to grace her lips.

"I apologize for Jean's behavior. He's just a mutt, isn't he?" She took great delight in slandering him in front of me. He walked away and I couldn't help another glance, seeing his butt.

He had to be a male model with a butt like that.

"Charmed," the woman snickered, glancing back to enjoy it with me, "but, I'm certain he gave you a better introduction than I."

"O-Oh! N-no! Not like that—I mean—"she quieted me by lifting my hand up to her mouth, kissing the back of it.

"It's alright." It was meant as a kind gesture but it was so outdated and strange that it did nothing but excite my nervousness further.

"Now, what made you come back all the way here?" She withdrew her hands, crossing them, and glancing me up and down.

"Perhaps curiosity?" She guessed.

"Oh!" I remembered why I was here—no thanks to floppy dicks and hot women.

"I-I was responding to an advertisement on Craigslist and these were the directions and—"I saw the realization flash over her eyes as she put her hand up, stopping me.

"Ah, then, you found your mark, but this is unfortunate," she exhaled, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

I was confused.

"What do you mean?" I felt a bubbling fear that she might've sold the space to someone else.

"I understand that you might have some tragic backstory," she lamented, "or, that you are a runaway soon-to-be actress, but, child, I do not allow minors to live with me—Oh, poor Jean-boy might get in trouble for even mingling with you being naked and all—girl, listen to me, you cannot just run from home—"

I felt my cheeks redden at the accusation.

"I'm not a child!" I retorted and she rolled her eyes.

"I get it, 'I'm older in spirit'," she mocked with air quotations. I felt anger rising up in me as I put a finger up to her face and tugged off my backpack, placing it on the ground, and sat near it, digging through it quickly to find my wallet.

"No, I will not accept bribes—this won't do, girl." Ymir exasperated.

"My kind of work can get me in trouble! The advertisement explicitly listed—"I shoved my driver's license in her face as she scrunched her brows together.

"Eh," she clicked her tongue in annoyance, grabbing the glasses hanging on her lanyard. She put them on and adjusted, using a finger to help read the lines until she found my birthdate.

"Well, I'll be," she said under her breath, snorting, and giving me back my ID and taking off the glasses, "I guess you were telling the truth, huh?"

I was smug in my victory as I kept my wallet out.

"You look really young, though, so, if I find out you are a minor, your parents won't be the only thing who'll get after you." The woman warned but nodded for me to follow her.

"My name is Ymir. I'm the one who put the ad out for a roommate, but you know the rest of the details." She looked behind me.

"And, you did pack-light! Good, I don't have room for another person's belongings," she commented, opening a rusty metal door that led to a narrow staircase. She brought me up the tiring flight of stairs until we opened another metal door that finally led into my new home.

But all I got was a sight full of dangling balls as Jean was doing pullups on the loft's support beams.

I hissed, removing my gaze.

"Ah," Ymir laughed, "Jean, I won't be needing you anymore."

He gave a short nod, observing me and then walking to the counter where I saw a stack of clothes at. Before he could even get too far Ymir slapped his ass, receiving a dirty snarl of cockney curses that only earned a howl of laughter from Ymir.

It was only when Jean left, clothed, that I could focus on the actual place—it was an old loft that was remodeled with newer appliances and lighting, but the floor was littered with hazardous art supplies lying about without care. There were canvasses with naked male models everywhere, highlighting their shoulder muscles, jawlines, and noses, but there were also others which focused on the male anatomy as a whole—it was all very breathtaking to see.

"The main floor is mine, but I set up an old mattress and divider in the loft for you. Felt kind of bad with the rent cost so I'm letting you use half of my dresser, too," Ymir jutted her chin up at the unlit loft.

"But, before you settle in, Miss Historia Reiss," I realized I didn't even give her my name before she saw it on my driver license! Fuck, I was being impolite-

"I hope you understand all the conditions of staying here…you had to have read them, right?" She analyzed me with great intensity. I felt like I could melt on the spot under her heated gaze.

"Y-Yes." It came out as a breath.

"Okay, then… Tomorrow, I expect you to have no clothes on."

"Understood?" She smiled, releasing me from her covetous leering.

"Y-Yeah." I didn't know I'd be walking around naked for a hot woman, though. I thought it might've been an older lady who loved painting, or, maybe—I don't know. It all sounded good before!

"Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow." She winked, leaving me to stand in the kitchen, flustered, as she attended her recent art piece.

I gulped down the lump in my throat, feeling my face get darker, but, I knew this was the life I was going to live for a while.

At least until my sister came back from vacation. 


	2. Dear

By the next morning, I was already settled in with what little clothes I had stowed away in the dresser, bedding for my mattress, phone plugged into the wall, and now I was about to jump into the shower, placing my shampoo, conditioner, and bodily essentials away as I bathed.

I was glad that Ymir didn't bother me too much as she worked in her studio, but it also made me very nervous how detailed she was, too. From the loft, I was able to see dozens of Jean's portraits, featuring all sorts of different angles, and she didn't even miss the dimples above his ass or the small freckle that was on the outside of his right butt cheek. Seeing her dedication made me realize it really wasn't about a thing of perversion but that she took her models seriously—I would've probably drawn a stick figure and called it good.

Before I knew it, I was out of the shower and drying my hair off with her hair dryer and preparing myself for the day. I was about to slide into my jeans but I remembered what she said.

I cleared my throat, slowly taking off the jeans, and glancing about her bathroom. It was small with brick walls but the shower had temperature settings, water pressure, and lighting color, all at the flip of a dial. The little space it had was my little sanctuary for now until I gathered myself to walk outside naked.

I wondered if I should wear makeup or not. I glanced at myself in the mirror, growing self-conscious to the small pimple that was near my hairline. I didn't want her to draw that…

I huffed and quickly grabbed out my makeup bag and began to apply my moisturizer. I could hear Ymir walking to the door and leaving. She didn't come back until I was done applying the last bit of my lip gloss. I listened intently as I patted the orange into the corner of my lips, but I couldn't hear too well.

Maybe the walls were soundproof? I wondered exactly why they had to be but I didn't want to think of it.

I cleaned up after myself and stood before the door, closing my eyes and inhaling, trying to relax but finding myself wiggling about nervously.

She'd be the first person to see me naked, but at the same time it was liberating. It made me feel almost free and invincible to know that I was about to strut out naked. Holding onto that feeling, I opened the door and walked out, glancing around and spotting Ymir at the table.

With a girl.

Who was staring.

My eyes went wide and I ran and hid myself behind the counter in the kitchen.

The other woman laughed, choking on her biscotti as Ymir closed her eyes, smirking.

"A female nude model?" The woman gave Ymir a quizzical look before standing up and walking over to me.

"It's okay! I'm not a perv like Jean." She promised and I wondered how she even knew. I shot Ymir a look—what a big gossiper!

I covered my face, embarrassed. She came closer and the moment I pulled my hands from my face she gasped, shooting Ymir a dangerous look.

"A minor!?"

"No!" Ymir slapped the table, laughing. "But she definitely looks it, doesn't she? That's why she's my secret little project."

Secret little project.

The way Ymir's eyes glinted and how the corners of her mouth curled sent a shiver down my body.

"Really? You have such a baby face!" The woman admired, exhaling. "Oh, right, my name is Sasha! And, you must be the Historia Reiss I've heard about?"

"Um, yes, I-I think so?" Smooth.

"Oh, Ymir, she's adorable. Here I thought you got another girlfriend." Sasha was visibly disappointed that I wasn't more to the artist.

"Nothing compares to you, mon chou." Ymir smiled at Sasha as the brunette sat back down at the table, flicking a crumb of biscotti at her.

I had no context as to what Ymir said, but the way they both gazed at each other made it obvious there was some history between them. Thankfully, my stare was caught on by Sasha.

"Ah, Ymir and I used to date a few years back. She funded my coffee shop downstairs, I fucked her like a porn star, and she made me breakfast while I gave her profits when her commissions were going slow." Sasha waved it off as if she didn't say anything crude, but, I felt warm just knowing and watching her grin and laugh and talk. She had that sort of bubbly personality everyone can be charmed by.

"By porn star, she means that she'd be a pillow queen and maybe wiggle a finger here and there. Don't be fooled," Ymir clicked her tongue, grinning as Sasha turned a bit red, scolding Ymir with a teasing smile.

"Now, she is married with my ol' friend Connie. They're quite cute," Ymir nodded, grabbing a mug of coffee and raising it towards her. "As cute as men can get."

"Oh, you, stop being so jealous," Sasha retorted before motioning for me to sit beside her.

"I brought coffee for you, too, Historia. Vanilla latte with whip cream and sprinkles. From what Ymir described you as, you're a sprinkle girl. I can tell." Sasha gestured to the coffee.

Oh, I was a sprinkle whore.

Like an animal being coaxed out with food, I scuttled over, taking a seat.

"Ah!" Ymir put up a finger, staring at me as she finished her gulp of coffee.

"Wear some clothes." She motioned for the bathroom door, knowing I left them there.

"Ymir!" Sasha threw a dirty spoon at Ymir this time as the cream on it splattered all over her face. "Manners!"

She turned to me, sympathetic.

"Ymir is just an asshole. She means to say that you should put clothes on. We don't want the coffee to spill and burn your lovely skin, okay?" Sasha gently patted my head, smiling. She was so very gentle with me. She reminded me a lot of my sister as I got up, hurriedly putting on clothes as Ymir bickered with Sasha on how she wasn't 'an asshole' and 'Historia knew what I meant'.

Truth be told, I was beginning to learn that Ymir was either an in-denial or unapologetic asshole. 

When I rejoined them, we sat down and Sasha and Ymir mostly spoke about the coffee shop and finances and possibly hiring another person on for on-call since Hannah was pregnant and might need a lot more days off. Who Hannah was, I didn't know. I really didn't know much what they were talking about and I pretended not to listen as I played on my phone.

We sat like this for ten minutes before Sasha got buzzed on her phone and got up.

"Well, I will send you an e-mail. And, really, Ymir—take care of your space! There's paint all over the floor." Sasha huffed, staring out in what could be described as a 'living room'.

"What? It adds character." She shrugged. Sasha only sighed, waving goodbye to me and leaving the apartment.

I put down my phone and glimpsed up at Ymir to see her watching me, eyes hazy with thought. She popped her lips, chuckling, and nodded to the sketchbook I didn't notice.

"Alright. Let's get to this. We're going to make some jam from the berries I got in the garden, but I want you to be naked. Don't worry, I'll handle the boiling pot." Ymir jumped up and strode to the kitchen, sketchbook in hand.

"When I tell you to hold, I want you to keep that position so I can draw you." Ymir explained and I was already heading back to the bathroom, undressing hastily and coming back out.

Ymir was staring.

I was staring.

She scoffed.

"Don't be so tense."

I didn't realize my shoulders were squared and I was looking like I was ready to wrestle a bear until I saw myself in the mirror.

"Alright, c'mere. Let's get this going, yeah?" She waited as I went over, standing in front, uncertain what to do, because I never did nude modeling or jam making. Let alone met a hot person who acted like a grandma.

"Hey," I felt her hand on my chin, lightly holding it and lifting my face to look into hers, "relax. This job is easy—be yourself and I will love it."

I felt my mouth go dry as I was dragged into the depths of her warmth and words.

"Good," she released my chin, walking past me and grabbing some mason jars.

"You'll be a natural, Historia. I promise."

Naturally, I was fucked. Big time.


	3. Cover

"What music do you listen to, chéri?"Ymir was sitting up on the counter, legs crossed, and quickly sketching whatever had caught her interest.

Which must've been my rear as I was filling up the mason jars with the jelly, facing away from her. At first, when I caught her observing me, I felt insecure, but now I was growing relaxed, trying to not making a mess of myself.

"Well," a glob came off the spoon, falling onto my fingers, "I really like The Decemberists. They sound really nice."

"How hipster of you. You'll fit right in," she chuckled. I licked my fingers clean and kept working until she clicked her tongue, catching my attention as I peered over my shoulder.

Her eyes widened as she gaped.

"AH!" She stopped me before I could move at all. I held still, uncertain why she stopped me, but I had to force my eyes to concentrate on her in the corner of my vision as I barely watched her quickly motioning at her sketchbook.

"Perfect," I heard her mutter.

Never had anyone used perfect as a way to describe something I did.

"You really are a goddess, Historia."

My heart was thrilled that someone as lovely as her would ever compliment me like that. It showed on my face. I couldn't even properly think as she kept staring at me like I was a wonderful piece of art.

"Um—so, Ymir," I felt like I had to talk or else she'd see right through me.

"Yes?" She didn't break her focus. Something I was also glad about because she was in her own world, unaware of my emotional state.

"So, did you come from France, or, um, just like the French language?" I licked my lips and that seemed to only excite her more as she quickly grabbed an eraser, fixing something with eagerness.

"I lived in Vancouver for a while. French is used quite a bit there," she curly answer but was quiet once more.

"Oh, um, where is that?" I didn't exactly know where 'up there' was.

"Canada."

Oh, it would make sense.

"How long did you live up there?" I asked as she leaned back, sketching away.

"I lived up there for a few years. Had some family up there. Though, I lived on a reservation as a kid."

It would make sense why she seemed so pretty. I kept my eyes on her, watching her diligently work, and, sometimes, our eyes would meet and she'd give me a small, warm smile that would set my mind off course.

" _Vous etes vraiment belle_ , Historia."

"You look like an angel."

"Your neck is so delicate."

"You have the prettiest eyes I've ever seen."

" _Votre sourire est un don._ "

The compliments came out every time she gave that sweet, slow grin, earning my bashful giggle in return, and she was the biggest flirt and lover I knew as I stood naked in her kitchen, modeling for her imagination and memories.

I felt infinite in her gaze's hold as she studied me like fine art.

Like any canvass, I yearned for her touch and stroke. 


	4. Me

_Be safe._

My sister would sign after every long message of how she'll be back home as soon as she could and that she loved me dearly. I loved her and told her everything because she was always so open and positive. At first, she was skeptical of my temporary living arrangements, but with a few (clothed) selfies of me and Ymir, she was relieved it wasn't some old man.

 _Be safe._

The words were ingrained in my mind as I traced the outline of my phone, feeling the small protrusion of buttons on its side, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness in the loft. Soft, melodious instrumentals lifted into the rafters like an enchanting lullaby. Beyond our divider, Ymir's bed was empty and the only sign of her was the warm glow of the candles in the art-living room. Ever since I moved in, Ymir would spend the better time of the night to reflect and create her masterpieces. She always had a cup of coffee, a glass of wine, and a can of soda, simultaneously, by her side as she sat on the ground with her canvas, refining her daily sketches into something wonderful.

Every night, I would quietly pad over to the railing and sit there, watching her from my perch, and seeing her scratch her back with the end of the paintbrush, gracefully getting paint on the back of her shirt, and how she'd talk to her painting as if it was real.

"You'll be pretty soon enough," her words echoed up as she was languidly tracing the outline of my body onto the canvas, "just be patient a little longer."

She was sweet to the drawings. Very loving.

But she was hard on herself.

"Get the damn line right," she'd curse if she messed up, trying again and having to erase a lot of her progress.

At the end of her sessions, she'd grow distressed, ignoring her pop and coffee, focusing on downing her wine, refilling, and becoming more and more anxious and bitter.

"Why can't I do this?"

"It's just a line."

"It's the shading…"

I never told her I watched her do this. By the time she went to the closet, hidden behind large portraits of naked, handsome men, I'd be nearly dozing off with my cheek pressed against the wooden balusters. Every time, she'd curse and groan, heaving the paintings away until she could pry that creaky door open, revealing tarp-covered pictures. Slowly, she'd dig through them, careful, and almost just as loving as her drawing process she'd pull one out from the dark depths and take it into the light.

She'd remove my image from her easel and replace it with finished portraits of Sasha. Each one had the woman's smile and her naked body in various poses. Most were of her with coffee, bare, and sitting at the table, sleepy with bedhead.

I was so far away from seeing the finer detail, but I couldn't help and feel like it looked lonely.

Maybe it wasn't the painting, though, but Ymir herself.

She'd sit down, tipsy or drunk, I didn't know which, and she'd longingly stare at it for minutes on end, lifting her pencil or paintbrush up as if to correct a mistake, but she'd reluctantly pull her utinsel down, exhaling. She'd bow her head…

And with a reverent hand she'd lift it to the face of Sasha and caress the woman's cheek.

In those long but brief moments, I'd feel an array of emotion that left my head spinning, trying to hold myself from walking down and asking what was wrong, or, worse, walking down and kissing Ymir to remind her I was there. Not that we were lovers or anything!—but the fact remained that I wanted to kiss her.

I'd watch her sit there as if her angry fire was doused and all she could do was quietly cry. If there were tears, I never saw because I'd return to my bed, feeling awful that I witnessed something so private.

Shortly, she'd put away her art piece and hide that closet again. She'd blow out all the candles, leave her opened pop and barely touched coffee to trip over in the morning, and she'd drag herself upstairs to sleep.

Without a skip, she'd always whisper.

" _Chacun voit midi à sa porte… Hah…_ Inutile de discuter."

It was said with such self-contempt as if she was degrading herself. I could barely keep myself from joining her in her bed, desiring to just lay her to sleep with my body, but I didn't have the courage.

After all, I was just her model and she was the painter. Where I was abundant, found in every pretty person she may see, there was only one of her, and I could not compete.

"Be safe." I whispered to her midnight.


	5. In

The clanking of aluminum and then ceramic came to no surprise as Ymir cursed, but I didn't expect that to happen until noon and not seven AM.

"Goddammit!" Her voice was loud as I jumped from my bed, afraid that she might've ruined one of her paintings. I ran to the railing and peered over to find the most startling sight.

Ymir was fully dressed in a suit and dress shoes with her usual unkempt hair back in a decorative barrette.

"All over my fucking pant leg!" I could see the large puddle of pop and coffee intermixing near her shoe as she waddled to the table, addressing the situation. As I flew down the stairs, I was half expecting all her curses to be in French.

"Are you okay?" I had heard her but I was hoping she'd tell me what was going on. She never told me yesterday of any important affairs that would make her dress up. By the time she shot a look at me I was by her side. With great tension she pinched her nose, hissing between her teeth.

"I can't believe I fucking forgot." Ymir sharply chuckled in spite of herself. "I had a fucking exhibition today. I can't believe I fucking forgot."

"An art exhibition…?" I cringed at my stupidity but she didn't get short with me. She only nodded.

"Now my pant leg is soaked. I feel like a gutter rat." She glared at her paintings before throwing a hand up at them in annoyance. "I don't even know which piece of shit I'm going to show off."

I went down onto my knees, peering over her pant leg, seeing it slick and sticking to her socks.

"How're your socks?" I lifted her pant leg as I felt myself bite my lip. It was almost erotic to lift her pant leg as I was on my knees as her brooding eyes rested upon me.

"Fine. But, what're you doing?" She asked, curious but curt. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I lifted it to the edge of her sock, seeing her beautiful dark skin as I gingerly touched the sock. It was only very slightly damp.

"When is your exhibition?"

Ymir swore at the clock. 

"Too soon for this bullshit." She was back to lamenting at her artwork. "Everything is so very old."

I purposely brushed her exposed skin as I brought the wet pant leg down again. It was so smooth as I sat on my legs.

"What about the one you did of Jean recently? It looks very lovely…"

"Pah. Old work." She fidgeted.

I chewed the inside of my cheek as my mouth went dry.

"What is it?" She easily picked up on my uneasiness.

"What about… what about the art… in the closet?" It was barely a choked whisper as she quickly shot up, face red, and fuming.

"I-I shouldn't have said anything," I covered my mouth, glancing away as she seethed quietly to herself, stomping to the kitchen and pacing, swearing angrily to herself. I was too scared to leave my position on the floor, afraid she'd yell at me for catching her at her weakest.

It made me feel so bitter to know what hex her previous love had done.

"The Jean art will be fine," she concluded loudly as if to yell at an invisible audience, "it will be fine."

She rushed past me, racing upstairs and I heard her fumble and undress before coming back down in jeans with her suit top.

"The fucking slacks will just have to be left." She went to her piles of canvas, rapidly sorting through them before grabbing one of Jean sitting in the windowsill with dust motes. "Good enough. They'll just fucking eat this up."

How she said it, the way she sarcastically smirked before walking right past me. She went to the door, opened it and stopped enough to take a large breath.

The apartment was silent as I finally peeked over at her, uncertain as to why she was waiting. Any word and I was ready to pack my stuff and live on the streets rather than have her yell at me for snooping on her privacy.

"I'm not mad at you." Ymir said, quiet. "I'm not mad at all."

She shifted from foot to foot, staring down the seemingly bottomless black stairwell as if the void would call back.

"Thanks for thinking they were worthy, though." She cleared her throat, glancing over her shoulder at me and our eyes caught. Her golden eyes were soft if not hurt. "It's just not meant to be, right?"

I didn't know what she wanted me to say to that.

Was she referring to her art or Sasha?

It was such a shit question. A tricky one.

"You're… you'll do great. I know you will, Ymir." I forced a smile and I knew she knew I did by the way she ripped her gaze from me and nodded.

"Yeah, well, help yourself to whatever. I will be gone for most of the day. Au revoir." She lazily signaled with one hand as she disappeared with a loud shut of the door.

The moment I heard the other door I loudly groaned, purposely slamming my head against the wooden dining chair, but accidentally doing it too hard.

"Ow!" I winced, holding my forehead, rubbing it as I fell over on the ground, curling up. "Ow, ow, ow…"

I kept holding my head as I uncurled myself and thought about how stupid it was to even mention those secret paintings. In fact, maybe I deserved to bonk my head like this.

"Stupid." I sat up, feeling sorry for myself as I glimpsed at my hand to make sure there was no blood. I remained there, kicking myself over what I did. Maybe I could somehow apologize to her or at least show I was sorry.

Her pants were wet… maybe if I washed them and brought them to her? But, she didn't even tell me where the art exhibition was. I closed my eyes, feeling defeated.

What did she even mean… when she said it wasn't meant to be?

I felt a thought creep into my mind.

God.

No.

Do it, it said.

"No," I couldn't help but side glance where the hidden closet door was. My hands were almost itching at the thought of seeing what all was inside, because I knew there was more. Ymir only ever took that single one out.

Who knew if she ever had more girlfriends…

I wouldn't do it.

I knew better. I wasn't about to snoop in Ymir's personal stash.

.

.

.

"What's going on up here, Ymir? First, I hear you yelling and our customers were frightened, and now I hear a big crash and—"Sasha scolded but stopped as the door closed behind her.

In the corner of the art-living room there was a pile of paintings, covering my twitching body.

"Oh no! Jean's painting!" Sasha gasped, staring wide eyed at the ruined painting. It was the largest portrait Ymir ever done of the man sprawled out erotically in the bed, but, now, it had a hole right where his dick would've been—a hole completely occupied with my arm, making for a hilarious sight as Sasha died, falling to the floor, bubbling up laughter and gasps for air.

"Historia! Jean will kill you!" She barely sputtered, crawling over, howling still as she tried to help me out from under artistic death trap. "What were you even doing?!" 

When the last painting was taken off, I shot up, breathing heavily, flushed, and ripping my arm out from Jean's ruined, painted crotch.

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" I squeaked as Sasha's eyes went right to the closet. Her face lit up.

"Oh! You sweet girl, were you trying to find the cleaning supplies? They're under the sink." Sasha pointed towards the kitchen. "Ymir doesn't even use this closet for anything."

Did Sasha not know?

"Hm. I wonder what's in there, though. I haven't even seen this thing since I lived here with her," Sasha went for the handle and I dove in front of her, stepping on Jean's face, and ruining that, too.

"Fuck—Um, I mean, y-you shouldn't look in there! Please!" I plastered myself all over the door. I already hurt Ymir's feelings by sneaking around and I didn't want to get caught for looking, or, worse, have Sasha find out Ymir kept those paintings of her.

"What? Why… what is she hiding?" Sasha narrowed her eyes. "She better not be growing pot in there. Historia, please, move, I have to look now. If she's growing pot, I swear—"

"It's! It's not that!" But Sasha was too powerful as she peeled me off the door and opened it, revealing it to be full of covered paintings.

"Huh. Who would've guessed," Sasha rolled her eyes, "more paintings."

She pulled one out and took its cover off before her eyes bulging out of their sockets.

"OH MY GOD!" She yelped.

I was ready for Sasha to flip out and call Ymir about making her uncomfortable, but, instead, Sasha yanked me beside her, shoving my face into the portrait.

"Look at me back then! I was so hot! I got a little fatter now, but look! Oh man! My tits were so perky back then!" She gushed, taking all the paintings out to admire them. Even she walked all over Jean's destroyed canvas. "Man, I sure miss those days!"

Sasha brought them to the table, exhaling happily.

"Don't get me wrong, I love my husband, but being with Ymir was nice, too." She stroked the very painting Ymir had last night.

I just blankly stared.

Everything that could go wrong was going wrong.

It couldn't possibly get worse so I might as well…

"Why did you two break up?" I asked and Sasha seemed surprised as she chuckled, resting her face in the palm of her hand. I didn't know how she could smile like that when she possibly knew Ymir was hurting.

"She broke up with me." This time, I felt my own flinch and startled reaction.

"Oh, it isn't that surprising," Sasha folded her fingers together, placing her chin there as her eyes drifted into the distance, "she was so smart and cool and hot and thoughtful. I was a country bumpkin just learning how the city works. Where I ran around in daisy dukes and tanks, she was sophisticated and smelling wines."

I had to take a seat as I stared at the numerous drawings of Sasha. Very few had her clothed as many were her naked, posed all over the apartment.

"…but what happened?"

Certainly, Ymir must've felt something if she kept revisiting her time with Sasha.

"She never told me. I couldn't ask." She answered, gazing at the work with a small smile. "I think I never really wanted to know… but, it's in the past. I've moved on."

I didn't know what to say—why would Ymir be so upset if she ended it?

It was awkward for a while before Sasha stopped viewing the drawings.

"So, uh, where is that gay ball of sunshine anyway?" Sasha was shrugging off the conversation and I knew I should, too, or at least not worry about it till later. I had over-asked on my part.

"She went to her exhibit today, and, uh, she ruined her pants—Ah, um, Sasha, do you know where she is?" I jumped up, racing upstairs and almost tripping and ending my life in one go.

"CAREFUL!" Sasha yelled after me, bewildered. "Um, but, yeah! I do know where it is! Why?"

"Would you be able to give me a ride!?" I called out up in the loft, taking out Ymir's ruined pants, determined to at least make something right today. "I want to wash Ymir's pants and take them to her! I sort of, um, upset her!"

"What? What you do?" Sasha's eyebrows were knit together in confusion and worry.

I was right back downstairs, ready to throw her slacks into the washer on speed cycle.

"I—um-!" I came out of the small laundry nook and sheepishly scolded myself. "I, uh, suggested…she should put your art up for exhibit."

Sasha's eyes widened for a moment.

"…what did she say?" She fiddled with her fingers, staring at her own feet like a bashful school girl. Her actions made it seem like that was the ultimate form of love coming from Ymir.

"She… made it sound like they weren't good enough… like she'd be embarrassed to show them… but, I think she really wanted to, because she was blushing…" I treaded carefully in these waters as Sasha nodded, listening intently, and chuckling nervously.

"That sounds like her." Sasha made herself comfortable at the table. "But, yeah…"

"…Yeah?" I didn't know what she was talking about.

"Yeah… I'll bring you. God knows what she's wearing now, the dweeb." Sasha inhaled and for a moment it felt like she was trying to let emotions roll off of her.

I quickly averted my eyes because I didn't want to make it awkward by focusing on her.

"She only showed her female art once, y'know. It's a lot different than her regular male model art. It makes you feel different," Sasha explained as she pushed a piece at me.

I felt pressured to be able to see immediate differences. I was never the one in my family who was big on art or observing and analyzing its quality and disposition.

"Um, I… I don't follow."

But she didn't respond so all I could do was stare at it myself. I wasn't even surprised when I saw it was the same one Ymir was fond of.

Though, I was amazed by the details I could see now. The dimples of Sasha's smile peeking through as she drank coffee, the tired and lazy eyes and how they were watching where the window would be (not that the viewers would ever know). At the same time, I realized something I only had an inkling before.

This painting…

It was lonely. The atmosphere inside of it was sad. I couldn't place my fingers on it, but the shading, the subject, the line work, and how Sasha was alone in the early morning…

It didn't make sense to me at all. The colors were warm, Sasha was even smiling a little, but…

"I was her first and last female model. Her first time didn't work so well," Sasha spoke up, shifting uncomfortably, "but… now, you're here. So… try your best…"

"I—I will."

It was like Ymir's melancholy had infected every piece that involved Sasha. It seemed even Sasha now held them in a light of 'could be's and 'maybe's and 'I should have' with a self-doubting 'things might've been a lot different if'.

This more I observed the painting, the more it felt like a wall—a wall that divided Sasha and Ymir.


	6. Your

I was overwhelmed at the venue I was promptly dropped off at. Sasha didn't have time to ensure I made it to Ymir since she up and left the coffee shop and had to interview the new employees when she got back.

"Bonjour," the front check-in smiled at me but then realized my casual attire compared to the formal patrons, "ah, are you lost?"

"Um, no," I felt embarrassed in a way, knowing very well how the rich and famous giggled at lackluster attendees. After all, her father and mother were the kind of people to partake in it. "I'm here for, um, Ymir."

Again, he gave a very obvious up-and-down look at me.

"I'm sorry, mademoiselle, but this is an invitation-only formal exhibit. May I see your invitation?" He did his best to remain professional even though he knew I didn't have one.

"I—I came to drop off Ymir's slacks!" I tried to reason bit as I showed him the freshly ironed pants. He stared at them and then at me.

"That's the first I heard this one," he muttered, unimpressed at my 'excuse' to try and get in, "but, I will have to refuse you regardless of your authentic stunt."

"Oh, what's this?"

I froze up and I jumped, seeing Jean approach my side, wearing a tuxedo with a swarm of ladies watching his every move.

"Have you lost your way, love?" He asked, smiling and tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I almost recoiled but I showed him the slacks.

"I need to get in and give these to Ymir. They were dirty and she couldn't wear them. She left with jeans." I explained and he nearly snickered, too pleased at the idea of Ymir being a mess.

"Oh, that is a problem, then, isn't it? Alright, come with me," Jean glanced at the now bitter and cowering boy at the front. "You won't cause more problems for Ymir's _girlfriend_ , will you?"

Now.

Now that made the whole crowd gasp, intrigued, and suddenly trying to rush inside, wondering what she had to show. I was about to race inside but Jean interlocked his arm with mine, languidly strolling inside.

"Why did you say that?!" I hissed, ducking my head as people kept glancing over me as the gossip began to spread like wildfire.

"What, I see how you two leer at each other when I visit." He smiled, pretending as if nothing was wrong—too used to the spotlight and glances. "Do you think I'm _that_ oblivious?"

I didn't retort as he guided me through the different artist's corners and walls until I saw Ymir's familiar figure facing her artwork, holding a glass of wine and conversing with a group of attentive listeners.

"Ymir," Jean loudly called out as I felt my heart bolt up into my chest as the room turned their attention to us, "Historia came. Said she has something for you."

I scolded him as he gave me a cheeky smile, pressing a hand firmly against my back and scooting me towards Ymir. By the time I was inches from her she had turned, golden eyes warm with alcohol and pleasure, smile ghosting on her lips like a naughty child.

"So she has," it was obvious that she might've had a little too much to drink, but she was holding herself up better than at the apartment, "it's good to see you, Mon étoile."

She didn't help but spark more interesting excitement.

A bolder man stepped forward with her, examining me closer as I presented the slacks.

"I washed these for you," I told her, growing embarrassed by the second as people were murmuring, "I… I made sure the coffee didn't stain anything."

Ymir took the slacks, holding and pinching the fabric between her fingers, rubbing and analyzing the spot where the stain would've been.

"You're too sweet," she peered down at me through lidded eyes.

Oh, her and Jean were the worst. They knew what sort of attention they were bringing by toting me around. It only confused me because Ymir had never advanced on me beyond vocal flirting. Why did they want everyone to think otherwise?

"Come, come," Ymir took me under her arm, wrapping me close to her side as she brought me into the fold, "now, my loves, this is Historia Reiss—she lives with me in my apartment."

I elbowed her, red-faced.

All of them took me in very seriously, questioning and trying to pry answers out of me, but I couldn't tell what they were searching for. Anytime I about answered Ymir would do all the talking.

"Ah, Ymir," Jean was merely passing by, "how's your new art?"

That's when everything changed. 

Ymir's grip tightened on me as her eyes narrowed on Jean.

"I have no idea what you're talking about? Oh, the art of you? Well, well, that ain't so new, is it?" The words rolled off her tongue with such honey.

"Oh, no, no, not that at all," Jean winked at her, sipping his martini as he began to walk away, "I meant about Miss Historia here…" 

He didn't have to say more to get the rest of the crowd going as they bunched in close, curious.

"Oh, Ymir, is she your female model?" A bold man asked, eyeing me as if I was a juicy piece of steak.

"Oh, I'm sure you're only touching up on anatomy," a woman gently waved her hand at Ymir, trying to be understanding, "after all, we understand your affinity is for the masculine touch on the canvas."

"I remember when you did your first female study," another man held his cigar, playing with it, wishing he could light it, "it was very pretty but also very stiff. I find it awfully delightful to see how your emotions and lifestyle is portrayed through the canvas—your male work is by far your best. Your female is lonely and full of solitude—have you ever thought of doing male and female?"

"Her female work is just as lovely, but it definitely has a different vibe than her other work."

They were a drawl that I couldn't understand—Ymir's work was fantastic either way. It might've felt different for each gender but it was never less than beautiful.

However, as I peered up at Ymir's face, I saw how sour it was as they spoke of her art as if it was an object. I couldn't understand at that time, but Ymir was nice.

She had waited until we got home that evening after a day of being pried into.

"Could've gone worse," she muttered. "But, I at least sold enough."

I knew it wasn't about the money as she laid in her bed, smoking a blunt as I laid in my own bed. The darkness covered us like a blanket, protecting us from each other's presence. Maybe it was her or me but I felt if we saw each other in this blackness that I'd give myself to her.

"What's wrong?" I asked because the whole day was pin and needles and I was far too exhausted to continue to pretend I was oblivious to everything. "Why… why were you so upset today?"

It was quiet except for her puffing and loud exhales until the joint was no more.

"I only had one female model before. It was Sasha." She coughed a bit and I felt myself lightly smile as she cursed to herself.

"I thought I found my calling finally. No more male models, no more women praising me for delivering sex on a canvas. I thought I found something good," the weed and tiredness were getting the truth right out of her. "I had a subject that I loved and felt like I could paint forever, but, every time I did, I felt… alone, I guess."

"A very deep sense of loneliness. Something was missing every time I painted her and I couldn't understand. Maybe I didn't really want to."

I sat up, drawing my knees to my chest, listening to her think and talk so lightly like starlight.

"People don't like sad things. They are shallow and only search for what makes them happy—they do not have the discipline to take the good with the bad. And, Historia, my paintings were bad—they had people confessing to me that my female studies made them feel lonely, sad, and some felt too uncomfortable looking at them." She chuckled. "It wasn't nearly as graphic as my male paintings. Not even as bad. But, yet, they demanded more of that shameless stuff and 'politely' told me to not draw females again."

I felt my legs shaking as I bit my lip, nursing it as I fidgeted.

"There's something inside me that gnaws at night—a sense of anxiety? Maybe loneliness and sadness. Isn't that anxiety, though? And I want so much at that time but it's so overwhelming in the daylight. Enough to bring it all back in and to not want it at all. I guess I'm not making sense, shit. How I've fallen…"

I couldn't help it as I quietly stood, hugging myself.

"Maybe you understand me, though… You can tell me if I'm wrong—I'm a big girl and can handle it—but I sense a deep longing in you, too. You see me differently because you understand that part of me, don't you? That's why you're such an angel." She had shifted in her bed but I couldn't see her as I silently padded to her bed, kneeling on the edge of it.

"What is it—did I offend you?" She asked.

My hand sought her out into the dark until I felt warm skin and something hard underneath. I felt it bob and I realized I had touched the side of her neck as my fingers drifted up to her defined jawline.

"What is it," she said it softer, searching for something I knew was there.

"I don't care what they say," I hushed her, crawling closer and holding her cheek in my hand. I even felt her arm reach out and grab my shirt, pulling it closer to her until she had me trapped in her arms and tangled in her legs. "I don't care what they prefer."

She thought she had control—that I was some crying little girl who was trying to defend her crush who was being bullied, but I wasn't.

I took handfuls of her hair, holding her still as my lips went past her seeking lips and to her ear.

"I don't' care what they want from you," I whispered as my breath grew heavier as her hand kept circling my upper-thigh, "I want to only have you and your happiness."

My body was in heat and I couldn't resist her anymore as my mouth parted and I felt my own hot breath wash over her ear as I licked the shell of it, feeling her tense up as she audibly groaned, arching her back and pressing her chest into me.

"…Historia…"

"They are all trash. Everyone who doesn't understand. Don't think about them."

What were these words that were coming out of my mouth?

"Just think of me. Do what you want."

"I want you." Her palm pressed against my sex, rubbing it deeply as she tried to roll on top of me, but I forcefully pushed her down, causing her to gasp as I took control of her.

"I can't stop myself anymore now that I know the truth," I had my hands up her dirty shirt and she didn't fight my possessiveness. "Don't hurt yourself with your art anymore—use me." 

It wasn't right to fuck her like this or to say those words but it came from my heart. Something defiled, something darker but she ate it up.

She ate it right up.

Maybe she was right—we did know each other's loneliness far too well.


	7. Mud

She was full of hidden knots and tangles. With every bite, I would find a thing she needed undone.

"Historia!" She choked out as my hand was at her throat, applying pressure bit by bit, feeling her hiss and get off at the idea of being helpless. It wasn't my idea but I was doing this to her, wasn't I? I never thought I'd see someone and know their kink but I did. I could feel how wet she was growing in her underwear as I teased and flexed my fingers every now and then to remind her just how weak she was.

"Hi-Historia." She had her hands in my hair, on my chest, on my ass, and anywhere else she pleased. This time, she had a finger in my mouth as I sucked on it so innocently as if I wasn't choking her. She loved the mix of being an innocent girl and a problem at the same time. 

I released her when I felt we both had enough as she was left panting, breathless, and begging as her own hands were tugging down her underwear, revealing what little I could see in the dark. Her lips chased after mine every time I pulled away, having to deny her the simplest of pleasures.

I shouldn't be fucking her like this, but I was.

I thought our first time would be romantic after she brought me to dinner and had wine, or that she'd confess her attraction to me after she finished my painting. But matters were in my own hands…

She was a dirty girl who didn't have what she wanted and needed for so long. I could feel it in my bones as she threw a condom at me.

"If things got desperate," was all she said and I had no idea if I liked that but I didn't care at the same time, because she needed a girl who could unwrap her problems like it was the sexiest thing she saw.

I bit it open and applied it to my index and middle. It wasn't hard to get her to find the lube next as I stroked her clit, earning a curious glance and uninterrupted moans.

And, she nearly broke the moment I slipped right into her. She was bucking and making sounds I could barely relate to sex.

She loved the way I screwed her. She loved the way my fingers were inside her ass. She loved the way I could pretend to be mean but give her love at the same time.

But, we shouldn't be fucking like this.

I was too hasty. I was too fast. I should've waited till she was out of her episode of sadness but now I couldn't go back.

Now, I was infected with her sadness like all her paintings. I was associated with incompleteness and now I could never get her to love me like I loved her as she called out my name every hour of the night until her body was raw and bruised.

I was the embodiment of Ymir's sadness.

Was this what I wanted?

Maybe. 


	8. x

Sex.

The sex was frequent after that night. She didn't have to ask and neither did I as we migrated from shower, testing how well those sound-proof walls worked, to the garden's secret openings, smelling the sweet scent of flowers and incoming rain, and to the countertops where old jelly residue stuck to already sticky skin.

Day in and day out, one of us would have our fingers crammed inside of each other like children sneaking cookies, but there was nobody to catch us. No one to tell us it was wrong. And maybe that was our problem- we had no mother or father or family member to scold us for being so relentless with each other, giving no space to breathe or reflect that maybe something was wrong. Not once did she ever ask how I felt and I never had the courage to ask her. All I could do was to bite her and mark her and hope her bruised skin would hurt enough that her body would alert her heart of my pained teeth, my hitched breath, and my fluttering heart. If she ever knew I didn't know. All she ever gave me was the fulfillment of her fingers in my vacancy and the coaxing of her tongue. Sometimes when we were caught in our own heat we'd kiss. Rarely, but, honestly, kissing her was like drinking flames, and maybe swallowing the sun was best in moderation and that's why we didn't kiss so often.

"Historia?" I could hear my sister's muffled voice on the other end. Her vacation was finally coming to an end. "Are you still there?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," I was naked, sprawled against Ymir's chaise with plush pillows and a wispy piece of cloth of a blanket, "Ymir was distracting me."

Those mischievous eyes were on me as a pleased grin swept over her lips. She had her head in my lap, nuzzling the slickened skin on the inside of my thighs. Daintily, she lapped away at it, keeping my attention and gaze on only her.

"Oh, I see… well, has father called? At all? Isn't he the least bit worried?" She asked, careful and afraid at the same time. It was a touchy thing, it really was.

"No, he hasn't… but it's alright." I knew what she was going to say so I cut her off because I didn't want Ymir to know. "I will see you soon, then, right?"

"Ah… yes, soon, soon," she agreed, "I must go now. I will talk to you tonight. Be safe."

The phone call ended and Ymir dug her face deeper into my core, moaning into me, trying to call me out of my languid disposition, but I only smiled at her, lowering my hand and running it through her hair and resting it at her cheek, holding her face, admiring every freckle adorning her face.

Ymir shifted from her seat on the ground, hoping to find a way closer to my sex.

"Historia," she was laying it on thick, indirectly begging me to react to her seductions, and I really did want to, but it would be too easy, right?

Ymir didn't like easy. Not that I knew. Not from what I saw in the darkest corners of her mind.

I lifted my foot to her collarbones, firmly and slowly prying her away from my sex. She loved to feel vulnerable and without control. She couldn't stand the idea of being in the position of pleading. It was everything that got her off.

Her golden eyes were wide like a priest who saw the flickering of angelic light, waiting in fear and awe of what I'd do.

I stood up, letting that silky blanket fall so she could see me all over again as I stared down at her.

She wrapped her arms around my legs, keeping me there as she closed her eyes, nuzzling my sex, and I could feel her hot breath drown it, covering the wetness with desire as she parted her lips, pressing her tongue between my folds but not quite reaching.

Images of self-care posters, stereotypical therapists, and watered-down feel-good pictures flooded my mind.

I could say it all. I really could but she didn't want that. She already knew, she already declined, and I knew she already made her decision of already wanting me.

Those depression pamphlets that were tucked away in her sock drawer were old and the way my hand ripped at her hair, yanking her down to the floor, causing her to cry out in pain and arousal was a new pain she took into her collection- a collection of things that fueled her heart, art, but never a relationship. At least not these days.

Loneliness was at her heart as she laid on the floor, panting, and then grunting as I lowered myself onto her mouth, feeling her hands jolt up to my hips, scratching at them, and anchoring me there as she passionately serviced me.

All I could do was rock my hips. The sounds from my lips were easy.

This was easier.

To Ymir, being sad and depressed and hiding it was a lot easier-even better, maybe- for her life.

"An artist needs to suffer sometimes. It's good for your work," she would say an hour after sitting on her face. She'd smile like she meant it, too, believing every word she spouted.

I was easy, then. I was a fool, too.


	9. I

Ymir had finally begun to flesh out my portraits—I watched her from the loft like I always did. At least that never changed.

I didn't need to know but I felt like she always had to have space once she began to prep her work area with the overflowing wine, the fizzing pop, and hot, steamy mug of coffee, so I stayed upstairs and observed quietly and she'd ignore that I was ever there as she slowly got drunk as the hours stretched into infinity.

"No… she's soft here," I heard her mutter as my fingers brushed over the buttons on the side of my phone, "you need to remember that…"

She spoke to herself a lot when she drew—it was like she cut herself into two as one became the artistic exertion of painting, forgetting who she was, and the other was the logic and memories trying to guide its dumb sibling. She did it way before getting drunk so I couldn't blame the alcohol. 

"Her lips are the softest… no, idiot, you made the line too thick, what the fuck are you doing?" She cursed at herself before growling, swiping away at it, trying to correct her mistake by scraping the acrylic. "Why do you do this?"

I had learned to tune it out because I knew I couldn't interrupt her creative process. I didn't want to upset her more.

"Don't make her like Sasha," her words were hushed, hissing, and I felt a lump in my throat upon hearing it.

My heart was suddenly in my ears and I felt my hands twitch, shaking as if I was afraid, and I suddenly couldn't wait for my sister to call me— I had to call her. Now.

I bit my lip, willing my legs to work as I felt fear crawl up to my face, and I was frightened that if Ymir saw me move that she'd beat me, that she might throw something at me, or, worse, she'd corner me and yell at me and tell her to get out of her house because I was a mistake and I was—

No.

Just. Breathe. Historia.

I got up, quietly padding down the stairs as my heart rate went up with each step.

At first, Ymir didn't notice as she angrily snapped her brush in her hands causing me to jump. It was then that she shot a look over her shoulder—one of pain and fright, like I caught her doing something atrocious.

"Oh, Historia…" she was quickly moving like she was going to get up, "didn't know you were awake…"

I cleared my throat because something was blocking my words and breathing.

"Y-Yeah… my sister wants me to call her…" No, she wanted to call me later, but I was going to call her now… it wasn't a lie. It was correct. I wasn't lying.

"Oh, right…oh," she blinked, realizing I was slowly shuffling closer and closer to the door, "need your privacy, huh? The bathroom is good for that… not like I need to tell you that…"

She attempted a smile but it came out like a grimace.

No.

Don't think of that.

"A bit of fresh air is nice," I was better at forcing a smile than her, "going to go sit in the garden and talk to her. I will be back, okay?"

She only nodded, peering at her broken paintbrush.

"Yeah, fresh air is good for the soul."

Without much else, I awkwardly fled until I hit outside before hitting speed dial and hearing the phone ring. I panicked as my hands shook and I felt like if I gulped air any harder that I'd swallow my teeth and tongue whole.

"Historia?" She answered rather quickly. Cheerful even.

I could hear her fiancé's voice in the background, laughing, and the sound of a relaxing band.

"F-Frieda—" I was hopeless now.

I felt the tears gush out as the bottled up pain hit me like a tidal wave as I choked on my own breath, sputtering.

"Historia?! What's wrong?!" Immediately, I could hear her walking away from wherever she was, listening to the creaky door and then utter silence on her end. "What's wrong, angel?"

"I—" Ymir was seeing me as Sasha.

Those feelings I kept hidden behind sex—behind everything Ymir begged for as I dominated her and controlled the parts of her that threatened to fly away—everything was coming out in torrents now.

I couldn't keep up with her in the end.

I was in too deep. I was trying to swim in the Atlantic when all I ever knew was the creek behind our house and Frieda might've always known that I was a terrible swimmer.

"Historia? Are you hurt? Darling, talk to me," she was growing panicked but I managed to get a foothold in my own drowning realization that I was terribly lost and broken.

"I-I'm fine, I'm safe, b-b-b-b-but, Fr—Frieda," I could barely contain myself as I hugged myself in the inky blackness of the gardens. Little to no light reached back here except the perpetual city glow.

"…What's wrong, then, Historia…" Frieda listened to me cry for minutes, unable to confess what was going on.

"Historia, angel, listen to me, okay?"

I could barely make a sound of recognition.

"… is Ymir hurting you?"

How could I ever tell my loving, understanding sister I was hurting myself?

That I set myself up for failure, trying to be exactly what Ymir needed and neglecting my own needs for her validation, for her to care for me, for her to ask something deeper, more personal of me in exchange for physical pleasures?

Ymir didn't know shit about me and she was fine with that. She never asked. Not once.

And I was left naked, used, by my own accord, feeling foolish that I ever let her have her way with me. And for what? Just because I wanted her and I didn't know better? That I should've not tried to play a game I never understood in the first place?

I sobbed.

I bawled.

I wailed.

"I—I want to go home! Frieda! I want to go home! I want to go home!" My own hoarse words echoed through the alley of the late night.

Even if I screamed it into the phone, at my helpless sister, and into the city night itself—Ymir never heard.

She never did because she never listened.


	10. Am

Ymir was upstairs, smoking a blunt as she leaned against the railing.

"C'mon, squirt, time for bed," she called down to me. It was often we slept together, innocently or not. "How was your call to your sister—her honeymoon going good?"

Ymir was completely unaware of my sister's reassurances and that she'd pick me up the moment she got back in town—two days from now.

"She's a worrywart," I responded, tired, exhausted of being the dominant, sexual woman Ymir seemed to yearn for every hour of the day. I knew I couldn't keep it up anymore and that she wouldn't like it. I just had to admit defeat.

"Hah, just like you," she exhaled a cloud and I could smell it so much more. "I swear you'll get a heart attack."

I scoffed and turned off the lights as I went upstairs until Ymir greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. A rare occurrence but it was followed by her snaking her arms around me, blunt still in hand, and nuzzling my cheek.

"Your eyes are red," she whispered, making me frown as I hid my face against her shoulder, "and, I'm the only one smoking."

She gave me the option to explain myself without prying.

"I miss her," I answered, truthfully, "a lot."

Ymir was quiet as she ambled us over to the side of the bed, extinguishing her smoke, and pulling me down. I was ready for her roaming hands but she seemed content as she was waiting for me to talk more.

"Are you in the mood tonight?" She interjected when I wouldn't say more. "You're unusually quiet."

I never realized how much I spoke before until she pointed it out—by now I'd be whispering naughty things and having her pinned in one form or another. I didn't know that was how the 'usual' me was, and it made me disappointed in myself.

"Historia?" Her hand was trailing up and down my side, warming me up to whatever was to come, but I shied away.

"I don't really feel it," I wanted to roll over, afraid to see her facial expression, but she smiled, getting comfortable near me.

"That's alright," however, I saw the nervous look in her eyes, the lingering glances as she tried to dissect me and find the problem. "We've been going heavy for a while anyways. Anymore and I would've thought we were just animals."

She comforted me too explicitly with sweet, soothing words to mask her own discomfort, and I hoped she also began to notice how little she actually knew me, because every small question she asked led to twenty more. She eventually slowed her talking because only her own voice bounced off the walls as I tried to imagine being home, safe, in my own bed, and unaware and unscathed from what Ymir became—unknowingly, I made her like my father, the very man who kicked me out.

Ymir became the figure I had to please—that I gave my everything to because the moment I saw her I knew I wanted to be more than just friends. I dreaded that I'd be something she'd never want. Just like my father. To be kicked out again if I declined her every wish…

I cared for her but did that justify how fast I rushed our relationship?

Ymir quieted when she realized I was ignoring her small talk.

"Huh, well," she rubbed my shoulder, hesitating with every small stroke until she withdrew entirely, "I suppose we should sleep… I hope I didn't offend you with my advances—did I go too quick?"

It was a bit late for that.

"No… I'm just tired. A lot on my mind." I doubt I could sleep.

After all, we were just two strangers in the same bed, and we only just found this out now.


	11. Drowning

By the next morning, my mind began to fester. Every orifice I begged for Ymir to fill was now hollow, cold, and I never wanted to be touched again. I had soiled my own trust and mind. I had promised myself that I'd never pretend again after father kicked me out, but how short lived it was.

"Hey," Ymir went beside me in the kitchen, watching me cleaning the pile of dishes we neglected, "is something wrong…? You don't have to do all these chores, y'know."

She knew I was avoiding her because I wouldn't stop cleaning. Any time she suggested I should sit down I'd decline, saying I was in a good mood, and that I just felt like cleaning.

"I'm just… I just have to clean. Don't you ever get that way?" I diligently scrubbed an old sticky jar of jam.

"Never," Ymir replied, leaning against the counter as she popped her knuckles, glancing at the soapy water.

I didn't know what she wanted because she wasn't going to get any answers. I didn't want to give her any.

"Historia," her voice was heavy, unyielding as it pressed against my shaky resolve, cracking its exterior, threatening with each paused second to break. It was only a matter of time.

"You know you can tell me anything… I'm not one to judge," her elbow nudged mine, trying to jostle a smile of reassurance from me, but there was nothing ahead of us but discomfort. No more pretending—no more glossing over finer details.

"My sister is coming to get me in two days." I kept a strong front, staring up at her as her eyes widened.

There was no mistake.

It was pain that I saw as she didn't even try to school her expression.

"Quoi?" She shot, afraid she heard me.

Did she truly like me or was she hurt that she would no longer have a play thing?

"My father had kicked me out and this was temporary. I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner, but I was afraid you'd kick me out." I curtly responded, hoping to withhold the angry waves of emotions that were churning inside of me. I didn't want her to see that part of me.

"…You were afraid of me? You know I would do no such thing…" her words were quiet as her eyes gazed into me, trying to figure me out. "Right?"

I didn't know her.

The silence could've said that as she realized that I didn't know her at all—let alone trust her thoroughly. Our bodies might've fit together like puzzle pieces, but I didn't know what picture we painted together.

"I don't know." I said to make it official. "I…we hardly know each other…"

These words were quiet but so strong. Enough to cause her to recoil as stood there, conflicted on what to say, what to do, but she opted to just cast her eyes at our feet, too wounded to see the answer repeat itself in my eyes.

"Ah, I see," she licked her lips, cracking her knuckles once more, "well, I can understand your wariness… Though, if you ever need someone to talk to…"

She didn't finish her sentence as she walked away, grabbing a whole bottle of wine despite the morning sunshine filtering through the window. She went around into the art room and sat down, immediately engrossing herself in her art.

"I suppose I should finish this before you go." Her voice wasn't flirty. It was as dull as a dusty pebble in gravel.

"Who knows if we may ever meet again." She muttered, slowly accepting the fact that I might never return—I didn't know if I ever would either.

We had done so much so fast. We were like a pyre built too hastily—the moment we caught flame, all of our kindling went up in a blaze of passion, burning with a great intensity, but out as fast as it came, unable to catch the logs for the long night ahead.

"Who knows."

The winter was settling in-between us as we rebuilt our walls, watching every brick tower until the last of Ymir was of her giving me one last, lonely glance—a stare that pleaded for me to say something.

Anything.

Anything but this silence.

Persisting.

Existing.

Choking.

Drowning.


	12. (X)

We revolved around our discomfort like the sun and moon.

When she came too close, I'd reflect her fake positive attitude, and it would've been believable if I wasn't so cold and monotonous.

Anytime I felt the courage to be around her—to hope and fool us into some lasting peace before the day I left—I would be burned by her scornful eyes, ignoring the false gleaming smile that everything was okay.

It was a cycle that became more and more toxic as time went on that day.

I kept my phone with me at all times, receiving messages sporadically of Frieda telling me when she got on the plane, landed, layover, and more. It'd be until tomorrow before I saw her.

Ymir and I danced, never staying in the same vicinity of each other—an impressive feat given that we were in a studio loft. We did it so gracefully that it'd almost seem like we weren't even despairing.

By night, though, I was fed up with Ymir's sugarcoated small talk, knowing she wasn't saying what was on her mind, and she was far too gone. As the moon was found high in the sky, Ymir was last seen at the bottom of the bottle.

"Fuck," she whispered. "What the fuck did I do, huh?"

I feigned that I didn't hear, hoping it'd be rhetorical or she'd give up entirely.

"It's getting pretty late," I spoke, "maybe we should go to bed."

"Huh, yeah, I would, but it's sort of fucking uncomfortable living in a cage, huh?" She sat in front of her easel, guarding it from me, glaring at me over her shoulder.

I wouldn't take the bait.

"You drank a lot, Ymir, maybe you should rest. You'll be hurting in the morning." I reasoned, walking over to her and she scoffed, sneering at me.

"Don't fucking patronize me." She kept sitting where she was like a bitter child.

"Here, come look at this shitty painting. It's fucking done," I stopped near her, staring down at her.

"I don't want to look at it now. Not when you're like this."

"Why not? You fucking stayed long enough for it, right? Here, look at it, now, I demand it," she jabbed her paintbrush at the painting.

"No. I won't, Ymir."

"Do it," Ymir demanded, "and stop hiding your emotions. It's fucking pathetic."

She ripped my mask away and I seethed at her, glancing at the drawing. My glare faltered.

There I was—smiling over my shoulder, bare except for an apron on, dimples at the corners of my mouth, but it was still depressing.

Who knew how you could make a happy person lonely, or was it that I knew I wasn't happy?

Was I happy at that time?

"There, now you either take it or it will just go in the closet," Ymir was unabashed as she slurred her words, adding extra salt to the opening wound.

"Why are you acting like this?" Stupid question.

"What the fuck, are you for real? You come into my fucking life, give me inspiration, act like you want to be with me, and, then, you suddenly never liked it? I'm fucking acting hurt!" Got a stupid answer.

Stupid that I even asked rather than her answer being untrue.

"I was scared," I felt angry because she was tearing into me—she was doing it with no remorse as she stood up, towering over me, showing me that she could hurt me if she wanted—no, she wouldn't do that. Not all people were like that.

"Scared? Scared!? I did nothing to hurt you! I rolled with your punches! I fucking let you into my house without worry! I gave you food and helped you out! I fucking—we fucking slept together! Why would I sleep with someone if I didn't respect them? Care for them in some way?"

"You don't even know me, Ymir! What's my favorite color!?"

"That doesn't fucking mean shit! I didn't like you for your favorite food or color! I liked you because you were kind—you were fucking understanding! You knew when to give me space instead of suffocating me! I thought you understood without even fucking talking! Do you know how much that means to me!?"

"You only care that I gave you something!" I shut my eyes, ready for the impact of a slap or even punch in my face for speaking my mind. "Ymir, you only cared about yourself! Did you ever once ask how I felt? Did you ever wonder why I moved in on such short notice? Do you think someone like me just lets a stranger see them naked!? Do you think I'd really put myself in danger to meet some stranger from Craigslist if I was okay!?"

Ymir just growled.

"Relationships are a give or take! I gave what I thought you'd want, you gave me what I needed! I can't fucking read your mind!"

"You didn't have to, Ymir! You could've just asked! Why didn't you ask?!"

"I didn't know I fucking had to, Historia! I thought you were being honest with me! Why did you have to lie!? Did you even like me—did you even want to sleep with me!? Am I some molester now that I know you didn't want to sleep with me!? What does that make me!? If I knew you didn't want to I wouldn't have done it!"

"You didn't do that wrong—I—I wanted to—but, not like that! You're not a molester!"

"I sure fucking feel like one! Fuck!" Ymir threw her paintbrush at one of her many portraits of men, puncturing and ruining it. "What the fuck!"

"I was scared! I am scared! I don't know what I'm doing, Ymir, but it's just not good right now! I—I like you—"

"So why is there a problem!? Weren't we good enough how it was? What the fuck changed? Did I miss something that was obvious!?"

I couldn't sort my thoughts. All I felt was anger as she glared at me.

"I don't fucking understand you! I thought it was charming at first but now it's just—just a fucking inconvenience!"

Nothing was going to save us.

"Why did you hide your depression from me?" It was all that I could bring up as she tensed up. "I saw the pamphlets, I saw how much you drank, I watched you sip a bottle away day by day, saying it was for your art, but all I see… is you alone and hurt, Ymir. I care for you, but I can't handle not knowing. I can't open up to someone who won't actually communicate with me."

Ymir went right into my face.

"Do. Not. Talk. To. Me." She seethed.

"You are always upset!" I yelled back with fear. "You never let anyone in yet you hurt because you're lonely! You won't let anyone in, Ymir! Not Sasha and now me! Sasha would've loved you if you kept her in!"

I clenched my teeth, holding her attention hostage as her face was melting, growing shakier as bitter tears came into her eyes.

"I said don't talk! I don't want to hear it!" Her shoulders kept shuddered as her hands clutched my shoulders. "Don't fucking tell me—"

"All I wanted was to know you but you only flirted and gave me what I wanted! I gave you what you wanted! We never knew each other, Ymir! You never let me in and I never let you in! You're afraid of getting hurt and I don't know why!"

"S-Stop!"

"I'm afraid of you hurting me! I'm afraid I won't have a home to go back to! Ymir, you can't keep pushing people away when you get scared! It's not healthy! You can't keep shoving people—"

"I KNOW!" Ymir was sobbing, choking on her own breath as she wailed. "I KNOW! I KNOW! I KNOW!"

"BUT NOBODY STAYS! I AM A HORRIBLE PERSON! WHY DON'T YOU RUN AWAY, TOO, HISTORIA!? SASHA GOT A GOOD ENDING WHEN SHE LEFT—YOU NEED TO LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Those very words were the same as the ones inside of me.

We had the same demons.

"Ymir, stop…"

"AREN'T YOU SCARED OF ME, TOO? TOO AFRAID TO GET CLOSE? I WILL HURT YOU IN THE END!"

"…Ymir…"

She bit her own lip as I pulled her into a hug as she dug her face into my shoulder, sobbing, reminding me I could run, I could get away, and that there was time for me to escape her.

I hushed her with kisses.

She found her comfort in my touch as we kissed more than we pleasured each other.

At some point, Ymir's hand accidentally got in her own acrylics as I pressed her up against her easel. Her hand reached up against the canvass, using it as leverage as she groaned, and lost in her bliss, she smeared her hand down the canvass, streaking it with red right across me.

Red for passion.

Red for anger.

Red for blood.

Red for the warmth.

Red for the morning I woke up, leaving Ymir alone in her bed, and packing what little I had and leaving with my sister who waited downstairs.

I never know if I will ever see this coffee shop, Sasha, or Ymir ever again.

But, Ymir…

I felt empty when I came but I left a little less.

I was a boring, static piece of line art that you re-imagined in all the positive qualities I only dreamed of, and you colored me in with colors I haven't felt since I was a child. Some colors I never felt until I was with you.

This might end sad, Ymir, but you will always be in my heart.

I'm sorry I couldn't stay.


End file.
